


Another Language

by robocryptid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angry Sex, Begging, Creative problem-solving, Dom/sub, Edging, Humiliation, Light Bondage, M/M, Name-Calling, Off-Screen Kink Negotiation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Spanking, ask to tag, assholes in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27735463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: Sometimes the best way to deal with their anger isn’t as simple as a conversation.Hanzo doesn’t scowl at him now. His chin is angled so he can look down his nose even while he’s looking up — like he’s the boss here, like he owns Jesse. It’s almost embarrassing how fast it gets his heart pumping.Hanzo reaches for Jesse’s belt, fingers moving swift and deft over the clasp. The leather whips free with a loud snap, yanking Jesse’s hips forward with the force of it. “Take off your shirt,” Hanzo says, voice as cold as Jesse’s blood is hot.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 13
Kudos: 255





	Another Language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [motorghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/motorghost/gifts).



> For [motorghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/motorghost/pseuds/motorghost/works) for their birthday. <3
> 
> There's also very NSFW art of this fic by YourAverageJoke [here on Twitter](https://twitter.com/YourNaughtyJoke/status/1332043096008298497?s=20).
> 
> There's no plot here.

Jesse never did learn how to fight properly, at least not in the verbal, adult relationship sense. He’s still learning a lot of that stuff — which makes dealing with _Hanzo_ especially frustrating, because Jesse’s so convinced that’s a guy who needs about a thousand self-help seminars that he forgets, sometimes, that Hanzo can still intuit things, like when he’s wrong or Jesse’s wrong or there’s something left unsaid or how best to deal with either of their bullshit. 

Sometimes the best way to deal isn’t as simple as a conversation.

Hanzo doesn’t scowl at him now. His chin is angled so he can look down his nose even while he’s looking up — like he’s the boss here, like he _owns_ Jesse. It’s almost embarrassing how fast it gets his heart pumping.

Hanzo reaches for Jesse’s belt, fingers moving swift and deft over the clasp. The leather whips free with a loud snap, yanking Jesse’s hips forward with the force of it. “Take off your shirt,” Hanzo says, voice as cold as Jesse’s blood is hot.

Jesse’s nodding before he realizes, fingers fumbling at the buttons of his shirt like this is his first time. He wants to argue just for the sake of his pride, but his tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth. His hands grow steady, though, as Hanzo orders him to undress the rest of the way.

“On the bed. On your knees.”

His body feels too hot. He wants to follow the instructions and he also doesn’t, and it makes him clumsy as he moves, ultimately, to comply. He can feel Hanzo’s eyes on his back, heavy as a touch. He resists the urge to look over his shoulder, but his muscles pull increasingly taut with every tiny rustle of fabric, every quiet breath that suggests Hanzo is moving, stripping naked. 

The mattress dips and a hand brushes along Jesse’s spine, shoulder to tailbone. “What shall I do with you?” Hanzo murmurs. “Should I make you guess at what I want, then punish you when you fail? It would be fitting for someone who does not know how to communicate.” Jesse’s pride gets in the way, makes him want to be a smartass, but indecision keeps his mouth shut. They were rhetorical questions anyway, and his body and mind remain at war.

Something scrapes over his hip, then rounds the curve of his ass — his belt, he realizes belatedly. Hanzo must feel him tense, because he laughs and taps the leather against Jesse’s flank. “Color,” Hanzo demands.

“Green.”

A fist suddenly snatches into Jesse’s hair, yanking his head back and tightening the grip until his eyes begin to burn. “And now?” Hanzo’s breath washes hot over his ear.

“Still green,” he says, almost laughing with his nerves, even if it isn’t funny.

Hanzo pushes him back to hands and knees. It isn’t the first time they’ve gone from arguing to fucking, or the first time one of them has initiated something beyond the usual without much warning. Still, it’s been a while, and that makes it hit like it’s new.

The leather slides along his thigh and over one cheek; Jesse wonders if that’s where this is going. His muscles lock in anticipation, every rasp of the belt against his skin ratcheting his nerves up further. So it catches him by surprise when Hanzo seizes around one wrist and wrenches it back. When he grabs the other, Jesse tips forward, barely turning in time to take some of the weight on his shoulder instead of his face.

His shoulder blades pinch together, aching, while the belt winds and tightens around his wrists, settling above the small of his back. Hanzo squeezes his ass in both hands, tight enough to hurt. It’s all the warning Jesse gets before he’s struck, a sharp, resounding smack of Hanzo’s hand. Jesse jerks forward, away from the sting.

“Jesus, ow,” he finally snaps, all pretense at docility knocked out of him by the pain.

“Color?” Hanzo’s hand rubs soothingly over the hot flesh.

“Green,” Jesse huffs, exasperated and embarrassed by the way his balls tighten and his face flushes and the way it all mixes together into petty resentment, which somehow only turns him on more, which baffles the hell out of him, but, well… Hanzo has always inspired some internal conflict. 

Hanzo’s hand descends again, this time on the other side, and Jesse’s body jerks again, his teeth clenching. It happens again and again, these hard, stinging blows that make his whole body seize, that leave his skin prickling and hot in their wake.

Every few strikes, Hanzo pauses to prompt Jesse about the goddamn color, then he begins again. It’s infuriating, and it hurts, and Hanzo won’t decide on a specific rhythm, won’t settle into a predictable pattern, so Jesse keeps tensing to brace himself at all the wrong times, struck the moment he tries to relax again.

“Jesus, fuck, that hurts,” he complains through his teeth.

“Color?” Hanzo asks mildly.

“Oh my God, baby, it’s still green.” Belatedly, it occurs to him that Hanzo might be fucking with him by checking in _too_ often. Hanzo confirms it with the dark laugh behind him, followed by another harsh smack. “You’re such an asshole,” Jesse mumbles into the bedding.

Hanzo hums in what might be agreement, digging his fingertips into the reddened meat of Jesse’s ass. He presses hard into the hot, bruising skin until Jesse hisses. It hurts like hell, and sitting is going to be hard later, but his cock is so hard it could cut glass, jutting heavy and urgent between his legs. He swears he can feel his heartbeat in it, and in the raw skin beneath Hanzo’s hands, all of it blazing hot and throbbing in time.

Hanzo’s fingers feel comparatively cool against his tortured skin, but every touch is too much, almost itching when he’s too gentle and aching when he’s too rough, with nothing in between. Jesse twitches away more than once, face dragging along the sheet beneath him.

A hand slips between his legs, Hanzo’s fingertips ghosting down the length of Jesse’s cock, practically drenched with how much it’s leaking. He tries to push into the touch, but it’s gone again too quickly. “Don’t try it,” Hanzo says, then traces a finger wet with Jesse’s own precome along the skin of his balls and upward to circle his hole. “If you come before I’m inside you, we start again.” His other hand drops in a light slap to Jesse’s sore ass. The threat is clear enough. He bites his tongue and takes several long, trembling breaths.

He holds steady when Hanzo’s hands disappear, and he fights the urge to drop to his stomach, rut into the mattress just to get some relief. Then Hanzo’s back, a hand seizing at his tortured skin to expose him. This time the finger is wetter and colder than before. Jesse wants to have hope that release is coming soon, but Hanzo’s showing no signs he means to hurry things along. No, the touch just keeps circling, slowly and with hardly any pressure, until Jesse’s body is _trying_ to pull him in, tightening and releasing despite his efforts to maintain some control over himself.

“So eager,” Hanzo purrs, hushed but amused, and Jesse’s face feels like it could light up a room, it’s burning so hot. “So _easy_ to get you to squirm.” His fingers rub along Jesse’s perineum to his balls, then they trail back up, catching on his rim before they smear lube higher along his crack too. “So greedy.” They retrace that same path, light as a feather, while Jesse grits his teeth, balls drawing ever tighter, and he holds himself so still that his muscles begin to tremble with the effort, locking into place.

“I give you everything,” Hanzo says with a laugh, but he somehow sounds less amused now. He eases the tip of one finger inside, but there’s no relief, not when it’s barely there at all. _“Everything._ Yet you rebel and grow resentful when you must actually _ask_ for what you want.”

Jesse tries to laugh, but the sound comes out wet and choked. “You know damn well this is what _you_ want more than me.”

Hanzo’s finger slips free again, returning to that awful, tortuous pattern of simply stroking along the outside. “Strong words from a man in your position.” Hanzo finally slides a whole finger in, right to the knuckle, and it still isn’t enough, but Jesse groans anyway because at least it’s _more._ “Needy,” Hanzo says as his finger moves, the barest pressure on Jesse’s prostate, trapping him in that state of not-enough. “Ass in the air.” A second finger slips in easy as you please, because he might talk a big game, but Hanzo’s right about him, right that he’s greedy for it, body eager and open and ready no matter what Hanzo says or does.

Hanzo bends down, fingers moving too slowly inside him, too gently, refusing to put the right pressure anywhere he needs it, and Jesse’s body takes it anyway, pulling eagerly on them every time they withdraw. The other hand twists in Jesse’s hair, gentle at first before it tightens and tightens. _“Presenting,”_ Hanzo breathes, lips moving against the shell of his ear. “Like a bitch.”

Jesse wants to argue back, to deny it, but the truth of it bears out in the wet, stuttering gasp as Hanzo’s fingers work him over, in the way his back arches and his face burns and his cock drips precome onto the sheet below. Blood pounds in his ears and his body feels too warm all the way through, teetering on the edge of the orgasm he isn’t allowed to have. His muscles seize, clenching in his gut, squeezing around Hanzo’s fingers, his thighs hot and cold and quivering.

Then Hanzo’s hand moves, leaving him empty, and the wave ebbs. Fingers trace along his rim again, an infuriating movement that makes Jesse twitch and curse, because Hanzo won’t let him forget they’re there but he won’t give Jesse enough either.

When his muscles finish trembling, when he stabilizes, Hanzo’s fingers plunge back in and begin again, the rough drag of them drawing Jesse closer and closer to the edge. It happens faster this time, brought on hot and swift by the certainty of Hanzo’s movements and the sound of his voice. “You will learn patience,” Hanzo growls. “And you will ask— you will _beg_ for what you want.”

Jesse’s jaw clenches so tightly that it aches, and he can’t swallow. He whines through his nose and rolls his face against the sheet, wrinkled and wet beneath him. It could be sweat or tears or saliva, and he has no way of knowing, not with the heat beginning to spread again. He knows better than to get his hopes up, knows this won’t be the time Hanzo shows mercy, but his body doesn’t. The stupid, shaking thing tenses again, pressure winding tighter and heat spiraling in his gut, until Hanzo suddenly withdraws his fingers again.

“Fuck, damn it, why are you like this?” Jesse pants, words struggling to escape a mouth that feels too wet and too dry at once.

Hanzo has the nerve to laugh. “I told you to beg.”

“So fuckin’ mean sometimes—”

“If I need to wait until you’ve tired yourself out, I can.” His fingers are hot, but Jesse’s skin feels hotter beneath them, practically feverish. “You know who’s going to break first. You know who’s the needy one.”

His fingers slip inside again, no resistance to be found, and it pulls a long, guttural sound from Jesse’s chest. The cycle begins again, quicker this time, dragging him close to the edge before Hanzo withdraws again, leaves him spitting and cursing and trembling like a leaf.

There’s a shock of something cold, although it quickly grows soothing. More lube. Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe it means Hanzo’s going to fuck him now. More likely it means he’s preparing to keep this up as long as it takes, until Jesse’s too wrung out to function. 

“Color?” Hanzo sounds so fucking smug, and Jesse wants to be mad about it but God it’s hot too, sends sparks chasing up his spine.

“Green, damn it, it’s green, you’re not supposed to ask just to be an ass,” Jesse complains, frustration bubbling out of him. He’s pretty sure he’s wiggling, trying to maneuver backward in desperate search of release.

Hanzo starts again, fingers no deeper than before, massaging with no more pressure, maybe less. It’s hard to say when his body is slowly dissolving into one huge nerve ending, like one wrong move is going to set him off but never quite does. He sucks shallow, hiccuping breaths in as the heat spirals faster than before, skin on fire as he struggles against the binding on his wrists. 

He can’t say what it is about this time that breaks him, what suddenly unclenches his jaw and his pride, but as Hanzo’s fingers withdraw, Jesse gasps, “Please, sweetheart.”

“Please what?”

“Let me come, please, I can’t… my dick’s gonna fall off, I swear, no more fingers.”

Hanzo laughs at him. Outright laughs, so fucking pleased with himself. Jesse wants to be mad, wants to protest more, but Hanzo shoves his knees farther apart to claim the space between them. His cock slides hot up the cleft of Jesse’s ass, not quite catching on his rim, and of all the things Hanzo’s done to him, maybe the most humiliating is how fast that pacifies him, how afraid Jesse is to say something wrong and get it taken away. 

Hanzo fits a hand between Jesse’s cramping shoulders to hold him down while he carefully feeds his cock in — but only until the crown pops in. Then he stops again. “Ask for it,” Hanzo growls, voice starting to show the strain.

“Oh my God.” Jesse tries to shove his hips back, to force this along, but he’s stuck tight, Hanzo’s grip and the position and his own stupid fucking belt preventing Jesse from getting any leverage.

“Beg.”

“Hanzo… honey… _please.”_ That gets him an incremental slide, another inch of Hanzo’s cock. His body works around it, mortifying in how desperately it tries to draw in the full length of him, and there’s nothing Jesse can do about that. His muscles are rebelling, uncoordinated under Hanzo’s hands.

Jesse tries again to push back, knowing full well that he looks ridiculous, ass in the air trying to hump backward onto Hanzo’s cock, whining for it, but it’s getting harder and harder to care. Hanzo swats his ass hard, a stinging bloom that brings back all the pain of his earlier punishment.

“Be still,” Hanzo commands. “Now beg.”

Jesse’s pride demands that he fight back, to do something to seize even a pretense of control, of dignity, but Hanzo can wait him out. They both know it, and he’s proving it now, immovable as a statue even with Jesse’s body clinging hot and inviting around his cock. “Fuck me. Please, baby, I need it—” Hanzo slides a little bit deeper, and Jesse stutters on one of those wet hiccuping sounds. “Please, I need you, need all of you.” That earns him another inch, but somehow it’s still not all, and his jaw is so tight it might break. “What do you _want_ from me?” He doesn’t sob, but it’s a near thing. “Please, darlin’, tell me what to say, I can’t do this.”

“Tell me what you want. Then beg for it. _Convince_ me.”

Hanzo makes it sound so simple, but Jesse’s been _trying,_ and it hasn’t been enough, it won’t get him everything, and he’s out of ideas. Hanzo’s hand lands hard on his ass again, another bright spark of pain. Jesse doesn’t quite yelp, but he clenches around Hanzo, and it feels so fucking good and it’s not enough and he strains against Hanzo’s grip. “Baby, please, I don’t know what you want, I _don’t know,_ just fuck me, please,” he babbles, every muscle in his body at war with every other while he tries to find anything, whatever will stick, but it has to be true too, or Hanzo will know, and he demanded to be convinced. “Please, I need you, need you to fuck me until I can’t walk, can’t think, do whatever you want, I’m sorry—” That gets him another barely-there slide, and he almost chokes on his tongue. “Please fuck me, c’mon, hard enough I can taste it, wanna feel it tomorrow, want you to pin me down and fuck me like the needy bitch I am—”

He’s half out of his mind, not convinced he’s even coherent, but something works, something makes Hanzo give in and glide the rest of the way in on one long, easy thrust, until Jesse’s speared on every inch of him. There’s no time to adjust, no time to process the relief of it before Hanzo’s hips pull back and snap in again like he’s trying to punch a hole through Jesse with his cock. 

Hanzo’s heavy hand is almost comforting now on the nape of his neck, even if it means Jesse’s face down and all but choking on the sheet beneath him. The other slides into the small of his back, forcing him into the kind of pornstar arch his body’s definitely not made for, the kind that promises more than his ass is going to hurt tomorrow. But right now, he has no complaints. He can only sob blissfully into the bedding, Hanzo’s hips a stinging pain against his sore, red ass, his cock relentless, punishing, making spots of color dance behind Jesse’s eyelids.

It takes an embarrassingly short time before he’s coming, no part of his body under his control anymore while he falls apart around Hanzo. Even this hurts, the release so overwhelming it seems to cross some wires in his head. He shakes as he comes down from it, but he’s going limp now, and Hanzo has to hold him up to keep him in place. Jesse does his best to cooperate, to ride it out until Hanzo pushes deep and goes still, short nails digging hard into the flesh around Jesse’s hips.

When he’s finished he slides out carefully, and Jesse wants to ask if they’re done, but he’s afraid to get Hanzo riled up enough for round two, so he lies there, still panting, unmoving even when he feels the slow tickle of Hanzo’s come slipping out of him. It’s gross and embarrassing and hot, and he wants to move, and he can feel pressure building in his chest, resentment that Hanzo hasn’t simply unbound him. That’s when it clicks, with perfect clarity, what Hanzo was mad about in the first place. Jesse’s doing it again.

“Darlin’,” he mumbles drowsily. “Let me up?” 

Hanzo’s there in an instant, doing exactly what he asked for. Jesse’s shoulders ache as they’re finally released. He doesn’t have to ask for Hanzo to massage some of the ache away, or to help clean him up, or any number of the other tiny acts of care now that it’s over. 

Hanzo was right. He _does_ give Jesse everything, up to and including an almost overwhelming amount of attention. It’s a different sort of embarrassing — the flustered, soft sort instead of the kind that burns hot — the way Hanzo maybe kind of babies him, at least when he’s feeling sweet. Whatever Jesse’s been taught about keeping his expectations low, not asking for anything he wants or needs because he can’t expect to get it… maybe Hanzo’s an exception to those lessons.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I was bein’ dumb,” he mutters into Hanzo’s hair.

“Anata,” Hanzo sighs, nosing in to press a soft kiss to Jesse’s neck. It makes him flush all over, warm and pleased. If Hanzo’s going to call him names, Jesse vastly prefers that one. Most of the time, anyway. 


End file.
